En vivant votre misère, vous pouvez être malheureuse ou heureuse. C'est dans ce choix que consiste votre liberté. Vous êtes libre de fondre votre individualité dans la marmite de la multitude avec un...
Do stories, apart from happening, being, have something to say? For all my skepticism, some trace of irrational superstition did survive in me, the strange conviction, for example, that everything in...
Because I'm happy that you exist at all, Elisabeth. Perhaps I love you. Perhaps I love you very much. But probably just for this reason it would be better if we remain as we are. I think a man and a w...
The woman we love ought to swim as slowly as we do, she ought to have no past of her own to look back on happily. But when the illusion of absolute identity vanishes (the girl looks back happily on he...
هل بالإمكان إدانة ماهو زائل ؟ إن غيوم المغيب البرتقالة تضفي على كل شيء ألق الحنين ، حتى على المقصلة
تختفي الذكريات إذا لم تُستحضر مرة وأخرى في أحاديث الأصدقاء.
الكائن الانسانى ليس إلا شعـورًا بالوحـدة.
اسمُ عائلتنا أيضا, هو يُقسَم لنا بالمصادفة, دون أن نعرف متى ظهر في العالم, ولا كيف التَقَطَهُ أحد الأجداد المجهولين. إننا لانفهم هذا الاسمَ مطلقاً, ولا نعرف شيئاً عن تاريخه, ومع ذلك نحمله بإخلاص مُمَج...
[mother] belonged to a realm of other creatures: smaller, lighter, more easily blown away.
There is no perfection only life..
Tereza knew what happens during the moment love is born: the woman cannot resist the voice calling forth her terrified soul; the man cannot resist the woman whose soul thus responds to his voice.
People usually escape from their troubles into the future; they draw an imaginary line across the path of time, a line beyond which their current troubles cease to exist.
Ni jedna ljubav ne može preživjeti u šutnji.
Man knows he cannot embrace the universe with all it's sums and stars. But he finds it unbearable to be condemned to lose the second infinity as well, the one so close, so nearly within reach. Tamina...
In Tereza’s eyes, books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood. For she had but a single weapon against the world of crudity surrounding her: the novels. She had read any number of them, from Fieldi...
He suddenly recalled from Plato's Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split then in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half...
He had entered Parmenides' magic field: he was enjoying the sweet lightness of being.
En travaux pratiques de physique, n'importe quel collégien peut faire des expériences pour vérifier l'exactitude d'une hypothèse scientifique. Mais l'homme, parce qu'il n'a qu'une seule vie, n'a aucun...
Cemeteries in Bohemia are like gardens. The graves are covered with grass and colourful flowers. Modest tombstones are lost in the greenery. When the sun goes down, the cemetery sparkles with tiny can...
But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?